


Pineapple Is the Flavor of Frustration

by verdant_fire



Category: Psych
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pineapples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdant_fire/pseuds/verdant_fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn needs more pineapple.  Gus just needs a break from Shawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapple Is the Flavor of Frustration

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in August 2008. Winner of the Bronze Pineapple in the [2009 Psychfic Awards](http://www.psychfic.com/awards/quickresults09.html).

“Shawn, why are we stopping?” Gus turned to regard his best friend with suspicion. Shawn, ensconced behind the steering wheel, looked completely—and improbably—innocent.

“I ran out of pineapple last night, Gus!” he whined pitifully. “It’ll only take a minute.” But Gus had too much experience, by a couple of decades, to believe that. In Shawnish, “a minute” usually meant “about 30 minutes.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh and got out of the car, grabbing the keys from Shawn long enough to lock the doors. Shawn just gave him his best wounded expression.

“Gus, I was totally going to do that!”

“Like the time we were in South L.A. and you forgot to lock the car, Shawn?”

“Nothing happened to it!”

“But something _could_ have!”

“No one’s going to want to steal a misshapen blueberry of a vehicle, Gus. Even if it is the Psychmobile.” And Shawn just grinned that infuriatingly smug grin that he used when he was convinced he’d won an argument. Which was to say, all the time, with the possible exception of the times that involved his father.

Gus looked at his watch as they walked into the grocery store. Shawn waved at one of the cashiers, whom he obviously knew. He probably knew everyone here; it was his favorite grocery store, and also the one closest to the Psych office. Gus lengthened his stride to catch up with Shawn, who had sped up excitedly when he’d sighted the pineapples in Produce.

“Gus! They’re on sale!” he exulted.

“Great,” Gus returned curtly. “Can we just get them and get out of here? We’re going to be late for our meeting with the Chief.”

Shawn gave him the How-Could-My-Best-Friend-Possibly-Think-So-Little-of-Me look, just one of many variants on the basic wounded look. “Dude, chill! I know what time it is. And if, by some chance, we _are_ a few minutes late, they’ll forgive us. It never hurts to make an entrance.” Shawn grinned in victory yet again and, after careful but rapid inspection, reverently plucked a couple of pineapples from their slanted abode. Then he all but pranced off to the canned fruit aisle, where Shawn paused just long enough to let Gus catch up before thrusting the pineapples into his arms, saying, “Hold these for a sec?” It wasn’t really a question, since even as Gus reflexively reached out for the pineapples, Shawn was already engrossed in selecting a can or two of every variety of canned pineapple product on the shelf, along with three bags of dried pineapple chunks for good measure. Gus stood silently at the end of the aisle and fumed, trying to let go of his frustration without much success. Shawn continued down the aisle, oblivious. Funny how his vaunted “psychic” skills could be so selective about what they deigned to notice.

Gus took a deep breath. He knew he wasn’t being entirely fair. But some days…some days Shawn just really got to him, and today was one of those days. Being Shawn’s friend felt like a full-time job now more than ever, and while he wouldn’t trade all this for the world, it was hard not to feel rained on with Shawn around. It was also hard to forget that being Shawn’s best friend meant being, for lack of a better term, his handler. Gus couldn’t shake the thought that Shawn was like a particularly precocious toddler, one who was charming and mischievous and startlingly intelligent, but one who also rampaged through the SBPD in a miniature reign of terror, making messes and stepping on toes and then leaving Gus to clean up after him and apologize for his behavior. 

Gus sighed. That analogy had always been true of their friendship to some extent, but the fact that Shawn was actually staying in one place for once—remarkable and welcome though that fact was—had the unfortunate side effect of maximizing the damage. Shawn normally just pulled up stakes and went somewhere else after a big enough misstep. It fit his restless nature, and it also, Gus suspected, had the advantage of saving Shawn all that awkward apologizing that he’d have to do otherwise. Here, Shawn just pulled out his best puppy-dog eyes when he realized he’d done something wrong, and that got him out of trouble way more often than it should. It wasn’t enough for everything, though, and until Shawn figured that out, Gus was left to rein him in as always.

Gus took another deep breath and shifted his grip on the pineapples, which were starting to leave prickle marks on his palms. He was spared any more irritated internal monologues when Shawn clanked back down the aisle, heavily laden with so many pineapple comestibles that Gus wondered how he was managing to carry them all. The amusing sight breached Gus’s defenses, and he started to smile in spite of himself. “Shawn, how did you ever eat enough pineapple to have to buy all this? I’ve seen your stockpiles at the Psych office _and_ your apartment, and they were fine last week.”

Shawn shifted guiltily, almost losing a pop-top can of pineapple tidbits in the process. “Well…I was snacking on some pineapple last night and watching _Ferris Bueller_ , and somewhere between the parade and the Ferrari’s swan dive, I realized that there wasn’t any more pineapple.”

Gus raised an eyebrow sternly, already seeing where this was going. “That’s a pretty short time frame, Shawn.” Shawn glanced up sheepishly.

“There might have also been caffeine involved.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you’ll remember this next time temptation strikes.”

Shawn grinned knowingly. “Well, we can both hope, eh Gus?” 

And with that, Gus finally decided to let it go. He knew that Shawn knew that Gus was at the end of his tolerance for the day, and in typical Shawn fashion, had somehow managed to make the appropriate gesture of apology without ever actually apologizing. Gus was, as usual, torn between exasperation and amusement at that, and went with amusement this time. He tried to whenever possible, since heaven knew the exasperation won out often enough anyway. 

“I won’t hold my breath,” Gus returned dryly. 

“Great! Because I’d hate to have to give you CPR. I mean, no offense, but _eww_. Anyway, shall we go? I feel the spirits calling me to the police station. They also inform me that Jules is wearing the blue shirt today. You know how I love that one on her; it brings out her eyes.” Shawn waggled his eyebrows appreciatively, while Gus just rolled his eyes.

“Well, I don’t know about Juliet, but the spirits should have called you ten minutes ago. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”

Shawn bowed and gestured expansively toward the checkouts. “After you.” He dutifully followed Gus to the front, where, after an excruciatingly long five minutes of waiting in line and watching Shawn charm the cashier girl into bagging their spoils in paper bags for no extra charge, they were finally done. Gus shouldered one of the bulging bags and walked out, Shawn struggling to keep up with him this time.

“Dude, what’s the hurry? We’ve got two minutes! We can totally make it.”

“Not _legally_ , Shawn. Give me the keys.”

“Aww, Gus…”

“Shawn, do you know just how much Lassiter would love to bust you for _anything_? Including speeding?”

“Fine,” Shawn pouted, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “But you’re no fun sometimes, Gus.”

“Shawn. Just get in the car, please.” This elicited a sad-but-chastened look from Shawn, but he meekly put his groceries in the trunk and got into the Echo. Gus started up the car, glancing anxiously at the clock on the dash. Great. They were definitely going to be late. As he drove to the station, he set to work thinking up possible apologies, trying to ignore Shawn’s incessant fidgeting. Maybe Gus could go with the “Shawn was stuck in a psychic trance and wouldn’t get dressed” excuse; he hadn’t used that one for a couple of months, and it might have a modicum of credibility left. He was going to have to come up with some new excuses soon. Being Shawn’s friend and partner in crime (or crime fighting, though he wasn’t entirely convinced of the difference) did nothing if not sharpen your diplomacy skills. Or perhaps just B.S.-ery skills. Gus chuckled under his breath at that last thought, and Shawn paused his energetic dashboard rendition of “Under Pressure” long enough to look up quizzically.

“What’s so funny?”

Gus bit back a smile as he pulled into the parking lot. “Nothing. Just life.”

Shawn seemed to consider this. “Hmm. True, but way too deep for this early in the morning. But who cares, because I feel an awesome vision coming on! We’re going to get a case today, I can feel it!” Shawn bounded out of the car before Gus had even turned it off, and Gus steeled himself for today’s exploits. Although he might be mollified for the time being, Gus was likely going to need every shred of patience he possessed as the day wore on. But when he was calm enough to think rationally, he knew that being Shawn’s friend and walking sedative was ultimately worth it. Sure, Shawn drove him crazy, but that was just what best friends did: they made life immeasurably richer, and they also irritated the living daylights out of you. Besides, Gus had never seen Shawn so focused on any one thing before, and he had to admit that he loved the feeling of really making a difference with what they were doing. So Gus always ended up going along with Shawn’s antics, because exasperating though they might be, they were actually doing some good. 

Still, though…he was _so_ going to make Shawn pay during Scrabble later.


End file.
